The Things that Voldemort Took
by Cordelia McGonagall
Summary: Goodness me, I made a Drarry. Get out your crackers, because I just opened a new spray can of fluffy cheese.


**A/N: I am not a Drarry shipper (or a shipper of any sort, per se) and I haven't read many Drarry stories, so apologies if this stomps on your head cannon. :D But a story is a story, and I hope this is a story you like. Of course this, like so many of my stories, is going to take the epilogue and dump it in the Thames. Sorry, JKR, and thank you for letting me play with your toys.**

There was only one person in Harry's life that he knew of who was close enough to love him fiercely and separate enough to study him carefully, and that was Hermione Granger.

She was the first to warn him to protect his thoughts from Voldemort, and yet, she was the one, when the War's end was a breath away, who begged Harry to crawl inside Tom Riddle's rotting mind. Hermione had, perhaps even more than Albus Dumbledore, understood what being a living Horcrux meant.

So it was Hermione, one year after the War's end, who looped her arm in Harry's and pulled him away from their friends who cried and laughed and drank tributes to numb themselves on this anniversary, the bitterest of them all - the winning of the War, the snuffing of beautiful lives.

They were both a bit drunk, warmed and sparkling from champagne that someone pushed into their shaking hands. But Hermione was sober enough to remember Harry's distance from Ginny, save a protective arm around her shoulders, a focused need to see her cared for through the grueling ceremonies. It was a characteristic chivalry. It wasn't love. Hermione had some thoughts that had gathered over months - she refused to think of them as suspicions - for nothing about Harry was suspect to her.

Hermione's mind was clear enough to ask what she wanted to ask, and Harry was drunk enough to answer.

The young man who wanted nothing more than to be folded into the loving family of Weasleys waiting for him, who wanted the press to forget his name, was going to need her. _Stay close to me._

 **..o0O0o..**

The following September, Harry and Ron were stationed at King's Cross, new Aurors in plain Muggle clothing. Furious rain was sluicing in sheets off the glass ceiling of the station. Harry was alert, reading faces, holding his wand in the front pocket of his hoodie, his face in shadow from a snapback layered underneath. He couldn't help but smile at a boy with a large trunk, flanked protectively by a nervous couple. The boy's parents were alternately fussing over a young owl and casually ignoring the absurdity of a large leather trunk topped with a caged bird of prey. Harry caught himself in his momentary distraction and returned to scanning the atrium of the station. He caught Ron's eye, and Ron jerked his head towards the newsagent's to his right. Harry saw a blond man disappear into the shop, and Ron's nod encouraged him to follow.

Harry sighed with an unexpected wave of fatigue when his brain processed the smooth hair, the angular features, and the lanky frame of Draco Malfoy. He was dressed in Muggle clothing as well, though his fitted three-piece suit looked bespoke - far from Harry's costume thrown together to blend in. He nodded with familiarity at the woman behind the till as he folded a newspaper under his arm and then dropped coins into her hand. He was carrying a leather briefcase. His free hand did not hold his wand; rather, he shook back his jacket with a twitch to check the time on his watch. Once, Harry would have seen a boy who certainly plotted destruction. Now he saw a man - _a handsome man,_ he noted with dread - who plotted his morning commute.

Harry frowned and drew closer. His training in Stealth and Tracking left him undetected until the inevitable collision. As Harry was expecting it, he was able to observe the shock, the reflexive jerk of Draco's arm to his wand pocket, and the look of horrified recognition which distilled to fear and then evaporated to a studied boredom in a manner of seconds.

"Nostalgia for the Express, Potter?" Draco drawled in an exaggerated fashion; Harry could hear the shaking he was trying to cover.

"Something like that, Malfoy." Harry flashed his Auror badge in a slight of hand that made Draco's eyes harden. "Care to explain why a wizard like yourself has decided to use the Underground? I believe all your rights and privileges were restored after the Trials."

Draco pursed his lips and squinted off into the distance before looking at Harry. "A wizard like myself." He smiled ruefully. "I commute to my office by train to give me time to work on my laptop, which doesn't work well at the Manor. Am I being detained for questioning, Potter?" Draco jutted his chin up, defiantly looking down at Harry, who was standing close and not backing away.

Harry looked back at him for a long moment, a moment he needed to assess his answer, a moment that reminded them both what he could do.

"Nope. Free to be on your way, Malfoy." Harry's body radiated a self-assured calm, and he cocked his head up at his childhood enemy and gave a weary smile. Draco scowled and moved past him, disappearing into the sea of grey-clad bodies flowing through the grey morning.

 **..o0O0o..**

In December, amid the festive bustle of Christmas in Diagon Alley, Hermione had organized a panel discussion about the reforms needed in Wizarding law. They only reason Harry had agreed to speak was because of Umbridge; Hermione, he knew, would never badger him to attach his name to publicity, but the pen's scar nagged him. Silence equaled agreement. _I must not tell lies._

His passion made it easier than he had thought it would have been, for he felt like he was speaking personally to each face in the crowd that had gathered in The Leaky Cauldron. His concluding words hitched on a pale face in the crowd who ducked away the moment they locked eyes. The fading of applause cued his release to search for Malfoy. Harry wasn't sure why he tracked him like he'd done so many times before at school; he supposed it was easier than facing the requests for autographs which he had been accepting or declining in turns, feeling wretched either way.

He'd looked Draco up in the newspaper archives after their last meeting. Finding little after the trials, he'd moved to the Muggle papers, and had found multiple small business articles as far afield as the _Manchester Evening News_ mentioning real estate and technology deals with a Malfoy Corporation. There was nothing suspicious about any of it, save Harry's interest. He usually could find Hermione to happily research any dead end. He knew that if he asked her for this, she would have questions for him that had nothing to do with Auror business. Like many things this past year, he used his training to tuck this curiosity away, forcing it into secret submission. Tonight, it burst out, undisciplined and uncontrolled. He didn't bother to see who watched him run outside.

"Wait up, Malfoy!" he called into the raw, foggy evening.

Malfoy seemed to expect it. He stood, poised to fight or flee, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. Harry noticed he wasn't wearing a cloak or elegant clothing; he looked rather rumpled, as though he'd not planned to go out or be seen. He did not wait for Harry to come near; he barked at Harry from a distance with a forced civility.

"Well done, Potter! The world is safe in your Chosen hands."

He glared at Harry as he disapparated.

Harry stood, staring at the patch of slush with footsteps slid into a swirl. He thought he'd buy Hermione a drink tonight. Perhaps a few. He went back into the warm pub, and was absorbed into a throng of questions and banter that eventually slid him near the bar.

"Hullo, Tom. I'd like a firewhiskey and a glass of..."

Harry had waved toward Hermione, and Tom nodded, cutting him off. "...champagne. Terrier-Innit or somethin'; That Malfoy git gave me an old bottle, said to give it to you and 'the bushy-haired one in charge.'" They both cast their eyes toward Hermione, whose curls were escaping their chignon and tucking in on themselves in the warmth of the pub. Tom tapped the bottle with his wand. "I ain't been Imperiused. I weren't going to have nothing of it, but he left a pile of gold, said he wanted t'buy rounds for th' house." Tom shrugged in apology. "A Galleon's a Galleon...You want this bottle for evidence?"

Harry pulled the bottle toward him and examined it. "I want it for drinking. Glasses?"

Tom raised his eyebrows and fumbled under the bar, eventually producing two dusty flutes, which Harry grabbed before Tom could polish them with his damp bar towel. He raised them in salute and gently peeled Hermione away from a group of portly Ministry officials.

"Thank you for that," Hermione murmured. "Ron's met up with Percy; we're not sure he's doing well. Ron can't shake him off, yet. Perhaps I can extract him in a bit." Hermione looked at Ron, and by chance Ron glanced up and met her eyes, his look of pleasure deepening to a gaze that made Harry ache with loneliness. As Percy turned to greet another bureaucrat, Ron dragged a smile from Harry as he turned his wand on himself, pulling a face, waving exaggerated movements for a vanishing spell.

Harry led Hermione out into the foggy night. He tapped his wand on the flutes to whisk away some of their dust and filled them, propping the bottle into a pile of slush near the door.

"To your successes tonight and always," he toasted.

"Cheers, Harry. Where's Tom been hiding this bottle? Looks expensive," Hermione said as she raised her glass to sip.

"Malfoy sent it." Harry said and then quickly jumped aside to avoid the spray from Hermione's lips.

"Are you quite mad, _Auror Potter_?" Hermione shrieked as she sent a jet of water to rinse her glass, refilling it to swish in her mouth. She spat at Harry's feet, glaring at him.

Harry pointedly sipped his champagne and watched her. "No. You went to the Trials, Hermione. Besides, there's no sign of tampering or magic. Draco came to watch your presentation. He looked like he decided at the last minute. He told Tom, who looked in his right mind, that he wanted you and me to have this. Paid for the house to drink tonight. Think that is sort of what we are aiming for with the Reconciliation, I reckon. Free drinks." His joke fell on deaf ears. Hermione was already thinking.

Harry was quiet while Hermione thought, his stomach beginning to churn. Then she said, "Draco. You said _Draco_." To Hermione, everything was a door, even this casual abandonment of a surname. Harry noted her tone wasn't accusatory, and at that moment, he felt very loved, yet rattled. She always saw what he was trying not to.

Harry frowned slightly.

Hermione rolled her eyes and held out her glass to be filled. "Leo Lockhart is Professor Lockhart's nephew. He went to Beauxbatons. His parents fled to France after he was born to escape Voldemort. He's very nice..."

"Please, Hermione, we've been over this. I'm not ready for the attention. The papers..."

Hermione talked over him. "Are of no importance to people who matter, as you know. Leo's not like Uncle Gilderoy. I had to point out who you were before your talk."

"You didn't tell...is he...?"

"No, of course I didn't, Harry," Hermione sniffed, offended. "I wish you'd hurry up and pull that plaster off, though. And yes, he is. Come on," she jerked her head toward the door. "I don't want you drunk tonight. One last for courage." She tipped back her full glass and emptied it in a gulp. "Whoo. _Draco_ 'd probably be horrified I just chugged hundred-year-old champagne. Good. Didn't even taste it," she said, smugly.

She dragged him back into the Cauldron; his heart was racing, and his mouth, despite the champagne, was dry. Hermione stopped at the bar to ask Tom for a tonic water, which she forced into Harry's hand. She pointed down to the end of the bar. A ruggedly handsome black-haired man was talking to Parvati Patil. His arms were crossed over his broad chest, and his knuckle and thumb sealed his smiling lips. She flicked her hair and said something that made him throw back his head and laugh. Parvati leaned into him at the exact moment he teasingly pushed her arm away, an affectionate shove, but one that Parvati was clearly not expecting. Harry watched her touch her arm as her flirty laugh faded, and she pretended to listen to Leo, her thoughts elsewhere. Harry turned to Hermione, who was smirking at him.

"Parvati just got clued in, I think. Introduce yourself. I'm going to rescue Ron. Send me an Owl in the morning. If you are at home, that is."

"Hermione!"

Hermione winked at him and melted into the crowd.

Harry was getting used to saying things in his head without shame, and _h_ _e is gorgeous_ slid through his mind easily. Leo moved quickly to open the conversation to include Harry, and neither noticed when Parvati excused herself and didn't return. And Hermione had been right, Leo moved closer, putting his elbow on the bar, and he didn't jerk away when a clot of chatting witches surged, pushing Harry into him. Leo pointedly ignored the reporters and the cameras, and he graciously kept pace with Harry's tentative small talk.

He asked if Harry wanted some fresh air, and Harry's whole body thrummed with nerves when he felt his warm hand graze his back, gently guiding him through the crowd. Later, Leo squeezed his hand in fond farewell, asking him to Owl if he was ever near Tours. "Perhaps we could pick up where we left off," he said, flirtatiously.

His kisses had tasted like firewhiskey.

The champagne and the snogging fueled dreams that woke Harry well before dawn. He was afraid to think or sleep, for the feel of Leo's soft lips and the brush of stubble on his jaw didn't belong to the face in his sleep. Harry threw on a pair of trainers and an old gym kit of Dudley's. He gasped as his body, fresh from his warm bed, hit the freezing morning. He ran until his mind only had space for the pounding of his heart and the rhythmic rush of icy air to his lungs.

All of Harry's unbidden thoughts were supposed to be dead, split into even, lost pieces. But truthfully, Harry knew these new thoughts were his alone; his possession was of an ordinary sort - not dark magic. It seemed easier to kill Voldemort than this, his thoughts of this one man. Over time, he gave them their space, but he didn't know what they intended with their residence, or how long they would stay.

 **..o0O0o..**

Hermione had given him a few days' peace, but she had invited him round for dinner the following weekend. He felt less lonely now, somehow. Ron had given him an awkward hug and had refrained from discussing the gossip in the papers. George had come round to join them, and he reminded Harry that all Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes products in their original packaging could be returned for a full refund or perhaps exchanged. He had also brought a bag of Patented Daydream Charms, for as he said with an exaggerated wink, "you and Hermione to fight over."

In May, when the days grew long enough to fly after work, Harry decided to join a recreational Quidditch league. He made the selection of a new broom a present to himself, and he drew it out, deciding to travel to Hogsmeade to browse Sprintwitches Sporting Needs, his Firebolt in hand for comparative shopping. He'd made plans to see Neville and Hannah for a dinner to catch up.

At Sprintwitches, Harry browsed leisurely, reading every placard, handling every broom. He ducked his head through a low archway to the broom servicing counter at the back of the shop. Draco spotted him first; he crossed one foot behind the other to turn and flee, then grabbed the counter as he realized he was trapped mid-transaction. Harry could have saved himself an evening of anguish by nodding a brisk greeting or ignoring him entirely. Both would have been acceptable. But brooms. But Quidditch. One could always talk about sport. And Harry was a bit lonely again today, in Hogsmeade, alone.

He smiled tentatively at Draco, who looked resigned. "New broom?" Harry asked, lamely.

"Yes," Draco said, cautiously. "Marcus Flint got me to join a league. Said I was turning practically Muggle." He sniffed a humorless laugh. "They always need Seekers, he said." Here he managed a smirk. "They age out when their eyes get bad."

Harry surprised them both by grinning and adjusting his spectacles. The lion in Harry's chest was used to a new prey, but Harry continued to feel like a spectator to the hunt. He wondered about the flat resignation in Draco's voice. Surely his life had not been destroyed; Harry'd seen to some of that testimony himself. He pressed on, curious. "I'm joining one as well, with Angelina Johnson. She's seeing George. He won't play anymore, and she misses it." Harry didn't expect to see the pain that ripped across Draco's face. A different Harry would have asked what right Draco had to it. This Harry gave a quiet acknowledgement and stared at the dust dancing in a sunbeam flooding in through a high window. The silence lengthened to bring Harry round to look at Draco, who had been studying Harry with an odd look.

"Are you here to drop off your broom?" Draco asked.

"Thinking about a new one, actually." Harry admitted, relieved for Draco to have steered the conversation back to safe waters. "Not sure what's best out now."

"That's easy. The one I just bought," Draco grinned as the clerk returned with a sleek broom the color of burnished bronze. Harry smiled at it, relieved for this conversation that didn't need him to spar. Since the War, since his day job as an Auror, Harry hated being on defense off duty. He looked at the shelves of Quidditch supplies and picked up a boxed Snitch. Draco watched him and blurted a question before he had a chance to think. "Want to try it out before you buy anything? Perhaps I can persuade you to not make a fool of yourself in the league. Save you some heartache."

They both blinked at each other in shock at the offer. Harry ignored the barb at the end; it had no venom behind it. He squinted as he pulled of his spectacles and polished them on the tail of his shirt. He didn't want to see Draco's face. "Unfortunately, we know I tend to seek that sort of thing out, heartache. I have plans with Neville and Hannah for dinner. I'd be up for a fly first, though."

Draco nodded and swallowed as he signed the receipt for the broom and Harry paid for the Snitch.

Anyone who had seen the two men headed toward the wide valley below the Hogwarts grounds would not have noticed the attention they paid to the gait of their walk, the pacing on the path, the space between them. The furtive daydreams that had visited Harry since the War's end settled on him with a flush of heat. _Obnoxious, cowardly ferret_ , he reminded himself.

They reached the wide valley, safe from Muggle eyes, and Harry hurled the Snitch into the air with an unnecessary force before chasing it. The rush of air around him was comforting in its thrill, and the two lost themselves for an hour seeking the Snitch as they had done at school. It was different now, a shared love of the sport and of winning the only fuel they needed to drive them, though Harry caught himself showing off more than once and conceding a catch when he could have beaten Draco to it.

They landed for a break. "I suppose I offered to let you try my broom, didn't I?" Draco asked, quietly.

"You did, before I took four catches to your two. I'd like a turn on it though, thanks."

Draco snorted. "Turns? There will be no turns, Potter. I've seen how you can destroy a broom by yourself," Draco pursed his lips, an oddly hopeful look on his face.

The offer was so casually explained and yet so blatantly abnormal that Harry realized Draco was right; his spinning mind wasn't fit to fly alone. He felt jumpy, as though he were being prodded with Felix Felicis, minus its reassuring effects. "Harry. Just Harry, please, Draco. Though I thought I did okay in the Fiendfyre. But maybe you are right. For once. Probably shouldn't be on your broom alone. Not safe." Harry managed to get this out in bursts while looking at Draco, who had sucked in a breath he'd probably needed for several moments.

"Yes. You did more than okay. You saved Greg and me, you and Ron. I'll never forget." Draco said this at barely a whisper.

Harry nodded. "I know," he said, for at once, he was sure that this was true.

"Shall we, Harry?" Draco sighed and rolled up his sleeves, revealing a shiny pink scar where his Mark would have been.

"Your Mark," Harry nodded at his arm. "It looks like it's..."

"Gone, yes. Left me a reminder, but yes. Voldemort took it with him." Draco acknowledged, grimly. He stopped rolling his sleeve, and appeared to be rolling something over in his mind instead. "Was it true - the Horcruxes? Did he take...what he'd left...in...in you?"

Harry bit his lip and nodded. "Yes, no more Parseltongue. No more angry visions. No more...girls."

Draco looked stunned. "No more _girls_?"

"Yes." Harry huffed a laugh at the absurd truth of it all. "Apparently, creepy old Tom Riddle was the only thing keeping me straight at school." He tried to make a joke of it, but Draco didn't laugh.

He looked at Draco, expecting to see mirth or a sneer. The sharp look - _Was it anger? -_ wasn't at all what he expected.

"No Hermione, then. Ginny?" Draco spat, accusingly.

"Well, I do love them both, but never to the first, and um, not any more to the second."

"Right. Well, then. You steer." Draco handed him his broom, a fierce look on his face that Harry couldn't define, though he was sure he'd seen it before.

Harry climbed on, and the broom dipped slightly as Draco sat behind him. In the Room of Requirement, Draco clutched him so tightly Harry could barely breathe. Now, Draco sat back, stiffly clasping his left fist with his right hand circled above Harry's waist. Harry's mind wandered to a Health class in primary school and a teacher demonstrating choking aid. Harry wasn't choking now, but he wasn't breathing any easier than when he had been chased by flames.

As before, flying relaxed them both; Harry tested the climb and the turning of the broom in long, looping passes far above the wards of the Hogwarts grounds. This was indeed a superior broom, and Harry spiraled it higher, circling above the top of the Astronomy tower. He was pleased by the handling of it, but he found his mind drifting increasingly to the hands around his middle, and the person to whom they belonged - the person whose warm breath he could feel on his neck in the thin air above Hogwarts. Impulsively, Harry tipped the handle into a dizzyingly steep dive, feeling the fist around his middle clench tighter one moment before Draco's body slammed into his back, nearly sending them both flying off the front of the broom. Instantly, Draco and Harry moved in tandem, correcting the descent by banking left, Draco's pull on his middle a mirror of the pull Harry was exerting on the handle of the broom.

Draco knew Harry's move before he made it, though this made sense to Harry at once. They'd both been chasing each other for years.

Harry grounded the broom on a soft swath of thick grass, and as he tumbled off, he grabbed Draco with one hand and the broom with the other, to keep either of them from hitting the ground. He dropped the broom gently, but his hand was still holding Draco's awkwardly, and without thinking, Harry pulled him close, pausing only to see a flutter of blond eyelashes, and kissed him. Draco's mouth was clamped shut as though he were being attacked by a Dementor. Harry pulled away suddenly, horror and shame washing over him in a drowning wave. Draco stared at him, seemingly uncomprehending of it all, the flush creeping over his face his only reaction.

"Oh," mumbled Harry. "I'm sorry. I just. Um. Well. Sorry. Th-thank you for the spin. I'll um, go now..." Harry turned to rid himself of the picture of Draco Malfoy so different from the ones that came to him unbidden. He braced himself for a hex. Perhaps a curse.

For the first time in all the danger Harry had found himself in, he panicked, trying to remember how to disapparate without a Splinching. His hesitation was all the time Draco needed to shake off his shock and turn him around. Harry felt a hand on his waist and one in his hair. And then a warm, open mouth on his. He responded, his hands unfreezing, sliding to Draco's chest. He tasted like cinnamon and home.

Draco sighed into his mouth. "Harry. I'm so sorry." And Harry knew all the things that he meant. For the first time, he felt completely himself.


End file.
